so by peers as seasoned and
dangerous.

"Do you choose to prove your words on Vistur, fish?" Again the officer
had a formal note in his question, as if this was all part of some
ceremony.

"If he meets with me as he stands--no other weapons." Ross flashed back.

Now he had another reaction from them. There were some jeers, a
sprinkling of threats as to Vistur's intentions. But Ross caught also
the fact that two or three of them had gone silent and were eyeing him
in a new and more searching fashion and that Torgul was one of those.

Vistur laughed. "Well said, fish. So shall it be."

Torgul's hand came out, palm up, facing Ross. In its hollow was a small
object the Terran could not see clearly. A new weapon? Only the officer
made no move to touch it to Ross, the hand merely moved in a series of
waves in mid-air. Then the Rover spoke.

"He carries no unlawful magic."

Vistur nodded. "He's no Foanna. And what need have I to fear the spells
of any coast crawler? I am Vistur!"

Again the yells of his supporters arose in hearty answer. The statement
held more complete and quiet confidence than any wordy boast.

"And I am Ross Murdock!" The Terran matched the Rover tone for tone.
"But does a fish swim with its fins bound to its sides? Or does Vistur
fear a free fish too greatly to face one?"

His taunt brought the result Ross wanted. The ties were cut from behind,
to flutter down as withered, useless strings. Ross flexed his arms.
Tight as those thongs had been they had not constricted circulation, and
he was ready to meet Vistur. The Terran did not doubt that the Rover
champion was a formidable fighter, but he had not had the advantage of
going through one of the Agent training courses. Every trick of unarmed
fighting known on his own world had been pounded into Ross long ago. His
hands and feet could be as deadly weapons as any crook-bladed sword--or
gun--provided he could get close enough to use them properly.

Vistur stripped off his weapon belt, put to one side his helmet, showing
that under it his hair was plaited into a braid coiled about the crown
of his head to provide what must be an extra padding for that strangely
narrowed helm. Then he peeled off his armor, peeled it literally indeed,
catching the lower edge of the scaled covering with his hands and
pulling it up and over his head and shoulders as one might skin off a
knitted garment. Now he stood facing Ross, wearing little more than the
Terran's sw